Evidence of Rain
by serenelystrange
Summary: Ok, first a warning. This is a sequel to a leverage fanfic I wrote, called Running Away. However, this doesnt actually have the leverage ppl in it. FF just wouldne let me post w/o a category. And this is where I archive. If you read anyway, much love, :D


A/N – Just in case anyone actually sees this. This is a sequel of sorts to a Leverage fanfic I did a while ago called 'Running Away." But my brain decided these two needed a bit more story. And six hours later, here we are, lol. Oh! Title and some bits of this are stolen blatantly from the Steve Carlson song "Out Here Alone."

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"Well?" Owen's voice comes out more forceful than he intends, but he can't help it. He's nervous.

Layla squints at the tiny box, "…It's pink."

"It's pink," Owen repeats dumbly, "Does that mean it's a girl?"

"Read the box!" Layla demands with a definite edge of panic to her voice. "I don't think pregnancy tests tell you the sex of the baby, it's just supposed to tell you yes or no."

Owen snatches up the little box from the nightstand and reads it carefully, "thank you for buying the number one blah blah blah, ok, results. If your test comes out blue, it's negative. And if it comes out pink…"

"Oh my god," Layla whimpers as she eases herself down to sit on the bed before she passes out.

"Hey, hey, it's alright, baby, it's gonna be alright," Owen moves to sit beside her, wrapping her in a loose hug.

"Don't!" Layla pushes him away as she stands. "Don't call me that. I can't deal with this right now."

Owen watches silently as she grabbed her keys and walked out of the room. He listens until the last of her footsteps are gone and the front door clicks shut. A moment later he realizes she hadn't taken the car. Good. It would make finding her later that much easier.

Sighing, Owen collapses onto the bed to think.

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A few hours later, Owen finds Layla sitting on a park bench only fifteen minutes from their house. The sunset is only minutes away and Owen wonders briefly why he suddenly feels like he is in a race against time.

She speaks first as he sits beside her once again.

"I'm sorry. I just needed some air."

Owen doesn't expect an apology, doesn't think it was due, but he grabs her hand all the same, squeezing it reassuringly.

"I know you're scared. But we're gonna be OK. I promise."

Layla turns to him suddenly and he can't miss the desperation on her face,

"How? How can you promise that?" she demands. "We've known each other for six months. We moved too fast. We ran away! We bought a house in Tennessee, for God's sake! We both work too much, and we know nothing about raising children. How can you promise it will be OK?"

"Because I love you," Owen whispers his answer, trying to pull Layla closer.

She pulls away.

"It's not enough."

"I…" Owen began, but Layla is already walking away.

He hears the car start as he drops his head to his knees. He doesn't know how he can make it better, but knows there are no easy answers.

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Layla's daisy decorated suitcase is open on the bed when Owen gets home. He hears the shower running from the attached bathroom as he walks over to investigate her packing. The suitcase is empty still, and it gives him hope. Maybe the shower will clear her mind a little.

Owen runs his hands through his dirty blonde hair so many times that he knows it must be a mess, but he doesn't care. Layla's always complaining about that one bit of hair that refuses to stay out his eyes anyway, but he refuses to cut it.

He's filled with a sudden panic that Layla might never bother him about his hair again. He knows it's too fast to panic over the thought of not spending forever with somebody, but he can't help it. He loves her. And she loves him too, even if she's too freaked out at the moment to realize it.

The shower turns off and Owen braces himself for whatever comes next. He hopes it's not goodbye.

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"It's not goodbye," Layla says for about the hundredth time as Owen slams her suitcase into the trunk. The cheerful daisies are mocking him, he' sure of it. He's finding it hard to believe that she's not saying goodbye when she's leaving.

"I know," he sighs, before taking the driver's seat, "You just need to see your family for a little while, you told me."

Layla buckles into the passenger seat, "I know you don't understand, but I need to go home."

And that's the part he really doesn't understand. After everything they've gone through together.

"I thought we were home."

He tries not to break when she starts to cry, but he's helpless. He starts off down the road to the airport, before taking her hand in his.

"I'll be back in a few weeks," Layla promises again.

"I want to come with you," he responds quietly, though he knows it will do no good. Layla's job is at a fast food restaurant, they won't care when she doesn't show up, but he works for the local plant, and they definitely will.

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The airport is eerily quiet for the summer time, and Owen tries not to think of it as an omen. It doesn't work. They stand at the gate; Layla's the last in line.

"Stay," Owen tries, one last time, pulling her into a hug.

Layla shakes against him, laying her head on his shoulder. She hates that she's been crying so much lately, and hates more that she can't stop crying now.

"Please," Owen begs softly, holding her tight. He's afraid she'll never come back.

"I love you," Layla whispers as she pulls away.

"Then come back to me," Owen is surprised at the strength of his voice.

She nods, once, before leaning up for a kiss. It's over too soon and Layla is suddenly the only one left in line. The flight attendant gives her a look that says all that needs to be said.

"I'll call you," she promises as the attendant ushers her to the plane.

Owen can only nod as she boards. He wonders how many times he has to watch her walk away.

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"Hey, Roxie."

Roxanne is speechless for a moment as she takes in the sight of her bleary eyed sister.

She finally regains her voice, "I haven't seen you in six months, and all you have to say to me is 'hey, Roxie?' Do you even know how worried we were about you? Do you even care?"

"Of course I care!" Layla protests before shivering. It may be summer, but June nights in Massachusetts are still chilly when only in a t-shirt. "Can I come in? It's cold."

Roxie softens slightly, "Jesus, Layla, of course you can come in. It's still your house, too."

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Layla looks around once they're inside and seated on the couch. The place looks just like she left it. She knows logically that it's only been six months since she left, but it feels like a lifetime ago.

She takes a moment to assess her sister. Roxie looks older than her 22 years. She's worn down from taking care of their father and everything else for the past few years. But it's not her face that ages her most; it's the look in her eyes. At one time, she and Layla had almost identical eyes; big and brown and sparkling with sisterly mischief. But now the spark is gone, replaced with a tired resignation Layla hates to see.

"He's not any better?" Layla asks, Roxie having told her that their father was at the pub again.

"He's worse," Roxie laughs dryly, shoulders sagging.

Layla bites her lip against asking why. She doesn't want to hear the reasons. "I'm sorry," she says instead, reaching out to pat Roxie's back gently. She's shocked when Roxie crumbles against her, dropping to Layla's lap, sobbing. She never cried like this, not even at the funeral.

"It's OK, I got ya," Layla smoothes Roxie's hair soothingly, even though she's unsure of how to comfort her sister. Roxie was always the strong one.

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Eventually, when Roxie pulls herself together, the mood is actually lifted. Layla smiles as Roxie makes them hot chocolate the way their mother used to; the whoosh of the whipped cream is a comforting memory as she swirls it into the mugs.

They reseat themselves on the couch, facing each other with considerably less hostility.

"I've missed you," Roxie says when she's through telling Layla a story about crazy customers at work.

Layla smiles, "I missed you too. It's nice to see you laughing."

"You'll stay?"

Her smile falters, "No. I mean yes. For a few weeks anyway. But I do have to go back."

"Why?" Roxie demands. "If you're so in love with that Owen kid, where is he? Why isn't he with you?"

"I wouldn't let him come. He wanted to."

"I don't understand," Roxie says, because she really, really doesn't.

Layla sighs, "I needed my mom. And since that's a not an option, I needed my big sister. I don't know… it's stupid. I just needed you."

"Why? I mean, why now?" Roxie asks, taken aback by the declaration.

"Because you love me?" Layla tries, hoping Roxie won't ask for more. She's suddenly regretting coming back.

Roxie raises one eyebrow in a frightening image of their old grandmother, "You're hiding something. Spill it, Lay."

Layla doesn't speak, just brings her hands to rest protectively against her belly as she stares pointedly at anywhere but Roxie's face.

She feels Roxie's disappointed expression more than sees it and she bites her lip to stop the quivering.

"Please don't hate me," she whimpers, feeling younger than she ever had before.

Roxie tilts Layla's face toward her with one hand and looks at her seriously.

"I will always love you, babygirl, no matter how much you make me want to tear my hair out."

Layla laughs even as the tears begin to fall, "Mum used to tell us that all the time."

"I know," Roxie smacks her sister lightly on the head, "She meant it every time, and so do I."

Still sniffling, Layla asks, "remember when we gave ourselves haircuts?"

"I remember," Roxie smiles softly, "You looked like Peter Pan for a whole year."

"I did not!" she pouts. "OK, maybe a little. Shut up."

"You shut up," is Roxie's absolutely mature response.

"Whore," Layla teases fondly.

"Bitch," Roxie teases back, wiping at the tear tracks on Layla's face.

"I love you, you know," Layla tells her suddenly.

Roxie looks surprised but accepts it, "Love you too, Laylay."

Layla's hands are back at her still flat belly, "What if I can't do this?"

"You can," Roxie reassures her, "You have me, and Owen, and Daddy. Once you tell him, of course."

Meekly, Layla asks, "Can you tell him?"

And the eyebrow raises again, "I love you, but if you were dumb enough to get pregnant, you have to face Dad."

Layla pouts, "Fine. But we're making his favorite dinner and dessert first. Just to, you know, soften him up."

"Yeah, that'll work," Roxie's sarcasm is apparent but she resigns herself to the cooking ahead.

Layla grins widely and Roxie can only laugh.

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When Layla doesn't call the first few days, Owen is worried. When he calls and her sister tells him she's sleeping, he's relieved. A few days later, and she still hasn't called, he's angry. It's clear she's avoiding him, and there's nothing he can do about it.

When it's two weeks from the day he left and she still won't talk to him, Owen is downright depressed.

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"C'mon man, we gotta get you out for a night," Billy from work smacks his shoulder roughly as they're going to their cars.

Owen shakes his head, "Not tonight."

"You say that every night," Billy reminds him, oh so helpfully. "No more excuses. Me and the boys are taking you out and getting you piss ass drunk. That's that."

Owen laughs, knowing that Billy was trying his best to be a good friend.

"Fine," he concedes, "One night. And one drink."

"Thattaboy!" Billy woops, smacking Owen again, "Meet up at the bar at 9."

"Alright, alright," Owen agrees, finally escaping to his car.

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The first hour isn't so bad, Owen finds. He drinks his beer and watches his friends act like fools. He even sings along to the country music he's learned to almost like by now. But then one of the guys, he can't remember who it was later, buys him another drink. And then another. And a few more after that.

It's about then that a bright eyed brunette makes her way to him, all swaying hips and bouncy hair, and offers to take him home.

Owen falters for a moment. The girl is pretty, seriously pretty, and way above willing. Her face is wrong though. Her skin is too tan, her mouth is too wide, and her eyes are too light.

He shakes his head as he mumbles what he hopes is a polite no thank you.

Instead, the girl looks slightly taken aback and more than a little weirded out, and she makes a hasty retreat to the other side of the bar.

"What'd I say?" he asks Ricky, who had been watching the whole thing in amusement.

Ricky shakes his head, "You told her she didn't have freckles."

"Ah, hell," Owen sighs, "I need another beer."

"Coming right up," Ricky nods in sympathy.

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It's three A.M. when Owen cracks and calls Layla's cell phone again. He can't remember if they're in the same time zone or not, but his drunken brain know that she'll be angry either way, so it really doesn't matter.

It goes straight to voicemail, which doesn't surprise him. He takes a breath and leaves a message in one long, rambling speech:

"Layla, baby, please come home. Please. I need you. And you need me. The baby needs me, too. Trust me, a baby needs it's father. I always wanted one. I just… I love you. And you said you loved me too. And you said you would call. And you haven't. You haven't called and you won't answer my calls, and I just, I don't know what to do without you. My dumbass friends dragged me out, and I had way too much to drink, and there's a million people here, Lay, but I'm alone. I'm out here, all alone. Please, just come home."

He disconnects the call, knowing absently that most of the message will be incomprehensible behind his drunken slurring, but it makes him feel better to have gotten it off his chest.

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"What's up, Dad?" Layla asks as he father makes his way to stand across from her, from her seat on the porch.

He had taken the news surprisingly well, and even congratulated Layla once he had time to adjust. All in all, Layla was really proud of her father. It couldn't have been easy for him.

"You look just like you mother, you know," he tells her, squinting against the sun that surrounds them.

Layla laughs, "You need glasses, daddy. Roxie looks much more like Mum than me."

"Roxie has her face, sure," he agrees, "But you have her expressions, and her humor, and her freckles. She lives in you stronger than any of us. I think that's why it hurt so much when you left, babygirl, it was like losing her all over again."

"Oh, dad," Layla sighs before getting up and hugging her father tight. She'd forgotten how tall he was and how small he always made her feel beside him. It's soothing, in its way."

"I'm here now," she says, taking in his familiar scent and heartbeat.

"And I'm glad," he responds, "But you have to go home."

Layla pulls away in surprise, "What? This is my home. Don't you want me to stay, daddy?"

"Always, babygirl, always. But you're going to be a mother now, and that means you have to grow up and face your demons like a big girl. You need to go home to that boy you ran away with. The one who calls at all hours of the night, crying for you. If you don't want him, you need to let him know. It's not fair any other way."

"You don't usually say so much," Layla sighs, even though she knows he's right.

He ruffles her hair, "I save up for when it's important, is all."

She laughs, "Oh, daddy. You're crazy."

"Love you too, babygirl, love you too."

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She finally listens to all the messages he's left on her cell, and tears are streaming down her face by the time she reaches the last one. It's mostly slurred, but she knows Owen was crying, and pouring his heart out. She listens three times, trying to figure everything out, but most of it is babble. The only thing that stands out is the 'please come home.' And she knows she has to.

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The airport is packed when she touches down in Tennessee, and she fights to get a cab, her bright suitcase clattering as she pulls it along. The ride back is silent and tense, even the driver can sense not to engage her.

It's a quarter to three when they pull into the drive, and Layla doesn't know whether to hope Owen is sleeping, or pray he's awake.

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The door pulls open before she can touch it, and there he stands, duffel bag in hand. He looks as shocked to see her as she is to see him standing there.

"Layla," is all he can say.

She smiles small, "Hey."

"I…" he pauses and seems to be trying to convince himself she's actually standing there, "I was coming to get you. I couldn't wait anymore. I just need to know, one way or the other."

Layla lets the suitcase clatter to the driveway as she throws herself at Owen, wrapping him up tighter than she's ever hugged before. It takes a moment, but he finally brings his arms around her in return.

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"Will you forgive me?" Layla asks him quietly, afraid to look at him.

Owen chuckles into her hair, "Depends. Will you stay?"

"Depends," she smiles against his ear, "Will you marry me?"

He's speechless for a second, before pulling to face her, "Isn't that my line?"

"Well, we aren't exactly traditional," Layla laughs, "Is that a no?"

"I've wanted to marry you since the day we left," Owen admits, "But we don't even have rings."

"We don't need them," Layla insists, "We love each other, and we'll work the rest out. Baby and all."

"You told me love wasn't enough," Owen reminds her.

She shrugs, "I was wrong. It happens. It will happen again. But you'll still love me."

"True," Owen sighs, "We should go to bed. I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted."

Layla grins widely, and she's never looked more beautiful to Owen then she does in that moment, rumpled and smudged in the moonlight.

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It's a while later, when they're about ready for bed, that Layla looks out the window onto their lawn, noting the way the moonlight reveals the grass to be gleaming.

"Did it rain?" she asks absently, braiding her long hair back for the night.

Owen comes behind her to tie the final elastic on her hair and slips his arms around her waist, looking out the window with her.

"It hasn't stopped till tonight," he responds, nuzzling her neck and placing a soft kiss there.

"I brought the sunshine home," Layla jokes, giggling as Owen's even shaggier than usual hair tickles her.

Owen gestures out the window, where the first rays of dawn are brightening the sky. "That you did, baby, that you did."

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THE END


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